And maybe I am.
When I finish, when I strike that very last pose as the final bars of music die away, everything is hushed around me….
And I hold it….
Then I acknowledge the judges and do the customary wave at the spectators in the stands.
That’s when the hush ends, and the crowd erupts into wild cheers.
I mean, they really do. For me, Joey Jordan.
I wave some more.
People are standing up and cheering. A standing ovation.
I come off the floor and Maureen sweeps me up into a hug. Then I hug Trish and the rest of my teammates.
Coach Angelo is smiling too, and waiting for me with a hug. “That routine really suits you,” he says.
“Thanks, Coach.”
Suddenly there are shouts of “Woooo!” throughout the stands.
The judges have flashed my score up on the board.
For a moment, I feel stunned, and then my entire body is flooded with glee and I let out a squeal. I got a 9.70 on floor! Everyone on my team, including Coach, surrounds me, and I am congratulated again and again.
“Yeah, Joey!” Trish says, giving me a hug.
“Thanks,” I tell her.
Coach is actually smiling big. “That might get you gold, Jordan,” he says. “Now go say hi to your sister quickly and then get back here. You’ve still got beam left.”
“Yes, Coach.” I run toward the section where my sister and my parents are waiting for me. Mom is practically sobbing.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, my heart sinking. This is the part that Mom has always hated — the stress and pressure of competition.
“Oh, Joey,” she gushes, and kisses me on the cheek. “You were beautiful out there!”
“Hey, kiddo!” Dad says, beaming. “That pasta is really working today.”
“Thanks, guys,” I say, turning red, relieved that they are happy.
Julia shoves herself in front of them so she can have her turn. She looks solemn.
Uh-oh. Here comes the critique.
But then a smile bursts across her face and she starts jumping up and down. I join her so we’re jumping together. “You totally nailed it! You are so taking home gold today!” she is screaming and then we hug. “Now all you need to do is stick beam.”
“Yeah. That’s all,” I say sarcastically.
“Hey,” Julia scolds me, but she is smiling. “You have a real shot at winning today.”
“I hope you’re right.”
She leans in and whispers to me, “Um, so the boy is here, huh?”
“Yeah, he is, but I didn’t tell him to come. We’re friends.”
“It’s okay, Joey. Really. Who knows? Maybe you can have both gymnastics and boys.”
“Thanks for understanding,” I say, grateful.
Tanner is waiting patiently to the side. Mom and Dad look at me, at him, and me again.
“We’d better get back to our seats,” Dad says. “Julia?” He grabs her by the arm and yanks her back up the stairs with Mom.
“Hey,” Tanner says, smiling. “You were incredible out there.”
I’m beaming. “Thanks.”
“I hope it’s okay that I’m here. I just … I just wanted to see you do this whole gymnastics thing. And be a supportive, um, friend.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” I admit.
“Really?”
I nod. “But I’ve got to go. I’ve still got one event left.”
“Beam,” he says.
“Yup.”
He grins. “Well, stick it and all that.”
“I will,” I say, and turn away to rejoin my team.
Regionals is almost over.
“With that 9.70 on floor, you need only a 9.60 to take the gold on beam and the All-Around,” Maureen says as I’m stretching.
“Yup, only a 9.60,” I say, giving her a look.
“Joey, you can do this.”
“I know. I can. I will.” I am trying to pump myself up, but I’m still nervous. It’s hard not to be. I stand up, stretch my wrists by pressing them back and forth with my free hand, roll my ankles, flex, and point my feet a few times. Peel off my warm-ups.
The announcer calls my name.
Here we go again.
“Yeah, Joey!” Trish says, giving me a hug.
“Stay tight,” Maureen says, with another hug.
“Stick it, Joey,” my teammates call out.
I walk over to the beam area. Acknowledge the judges.
My eyes lock with Sarah Walker’s. She’s standing right behind the judges’ table, smirking.
And you know what? Every other time Sarah has done this, she’s managed to psych me out. But not today. I just smile back at her like she’s one of my favorite people, a fan, even, and then I turn and focus, ready to mount the beam. All sound, all awareness of the crowd, my team, my competition today, the dozens of gymnasts from throughout the northeast, and even the judges — they all fall away. There is only me and the beam and my routine and my total love of this event.
I perform, I prance, I display my hard-won shoulder strength that allows me to do presses to handstands, and straddles that could make an Olympic gymnast jealous, and all the splits and poses that show off my flexibility. I do my pass that made Sarah Walker turn white. I do it all like never before, like I’m not tumbling and tossing myself into the air on a four-inch-wide, four-foot-high beam, but like I’m still on the floor. And when I get to the back handspring, back handspring, back layout, I go for it with all I’ve got.
And I do it flawlessly.
I land my dismount, stick it like the bottoms of my feet are covered in superglue, and throw my arms behind my head. I stay there a moment before I turn and acknowledge the judges. The crowd is cheering wildly.
Again.
And I know I’ve done it.
I, Joey Jordan, have just won Regionals with that beam routine.
Holy gold medals, Nadia.
“Go, Joey, woohoo!” Trish cries as I run toward the place where my teammates are clapping and whistling. We jump up and down and hug and scream. After we finally stop and I catch my breath, I turn to my coaches. Maureen has tears rolling down her face and she throws her arms around me.
“I am so proud of you,” she whispers in my ear. “That was perfect. I knew you could do it.”
“Not without you,” I say back. Because it’s the truth.
When Maureen releases me, Coach Angelo is standing there, towering above us.
I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the verdict. Did he totally hate my new routine?
“Good job, Joey,” he says and I open one eye nervously. “You need to watch your toes on those press to handstands, though. Your right foot sometimes twitches a little.”
“Thanks, Coach,” I say, both eyes open now, relieved that he seems happy. Pleased. “I’ll remember that next time.”
“Pay attention,” he says.
“I am, Coach.”
“Not to me, to the scoreboard. They’re about to announce your score.”
Trish puts an arm around me from my left, and Maureen does the same from my right. We stand there waiting for the official word, and I forget to breathe.
Then the score flashes up, and my entire body tingles.
I got a 9.70 on beam! A 9.70!
Everyone is screaming again. I’m screaming. My teammates are passing me around, giving me hugs.
The announcer’s voice booms over the speakers. “It’s official. Joey Jordan of the Gansett Stars will take the gold on balance beam, and this moves her up to the number one spot in the All-Around.”
“Joey!” someone else is screaming. Someone I know well.
Julia almost knocks me over when she arrives, and there’s more screaming and jumping up and down. When we finally calm ourselves, I notice tears streaked across her cheeks.
“I knew you could do it,” she says to me, her eyes filling up even more. “I knew this was your summer, Joey. And it is.”
<
br /> If I wasn’t so happy, I might cry too. But I don’t. “Thanks, Julia. For everything you’ve done for me these last couple of months.”
“I’m glad I could be here.” She puts her hands on my shoulders. “Now, for the big question of the day.”
“What question?”
Her gaze is steady on mine. “Do you think there will be tears when you’re up on the podium?”
My face breaks into a smile. “You know, I have no idea, really. I’ve never been up there, so I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what happens.”
“And I’ll take a million pictures,” Julia says with a grin. “So I can immortalize whatever you do and never let you live it down, regardless.”
“I think that’s fair.”
Julia and I laugh at this. We are happy, giddy really. We are together. And we are both champions now. Two Jordan girls who took gold medals in the All-Around at Regionals.
And now I have Nationals to look forward to.
How crazy is that?
Later on, when it’s time, I’m a bundle of nerves.
People have been handing me bouquets of flowers for the last hour. I don’t know where to put them all. Roses. Daisies. Carnations. More roses. Flowers I don’t even know the names for. At one point, while they’re announcing the medals for bars, a little girl, maybe nine or ten years old, comes up to me.
“Excuse me, Joey Jordan?” she says nervously. Her hair is in pigtails and she is wearing pink warm-ups with a sparkly swirl along the bottom. She is tiny. Compact. Like an aspiring gymnast needs to be.
“That’s me,” I tell her.
She smiles and holds up her program and a pen. “Can I have your autograph?”
I practically collapse to the ground with shock. Somebody wants my autograph. “Wow, sure. Of course,” I say, scribbling my name across the program cover and handing it back to her. “Thanks for asking.”
“Good luck at Nationals next year,” she says and runs off.
“I saw that,” Trish says wryly.
I turn to her. “It’s never happened to me before.”
“Get used to it.”
Then it’s medal time. I go up once for floor — I ended up with the silver. And once again for beam — the gold, and that’s amazing, standing on the top spot, waving at the crowd. But the moment I’ve waited for my entire life is the one when they call me up for the All-Around.
“Joey Jordan,” the announcer says, “the new, All-Around, New England Regionals champion!”
“Go!” Maureen is saying to me. “That’s your cue!”
I’m too excited to march or show grace. I practically skip my way to the podium. I climb to the top and face the crowd, waiting for the head judge to reach me with the medal. Everyone I care about in life is here — well, everyone but Alex, and I know she’s here with me in spirit. Mom and Dad have their arms around each other, and when Dad catches my eye, he pumps his fist in the air and makes me laugh. Julia looks like she might burst with pride. Tanner is grinning. Maureen is crying. Even Coach Angelo is beaming.
Nationals, here I come!
I throw my hands up, waving at everyone.
There’s that wild cheer from the crowd again.
This is pretty great. I mean, I could seriously get used to this.
The head judge finishes giving the silver to Sarah Walker and stops in front of me.
It’s time. It’s here.
The moment.
My moment.
I lean forward and she drapes the gold medal around my neck.
“Congratulations, Miss Jordan,” she says formally, smiling.
“Thank you,” I say.
I stand there, waving again, taking in the crowd, this day, this achievement that I will never forget, the faith from the people I love that helped to get me here, and the dedication and sacrifice this sport requires, and I think to myself, It’s all worth it.
Gymnasts may not get to have normal lives, but we get to have this.
I like it up here. I like it a lot. It feels good. It feels like I belong.
And I don’t cry at all while this happens. Not even a single tear.
I just smile really, really big.
Donna Freitas began her career as a competitive gymnast at the age of eight. She regularly medaled on beam and floor at the State level, and competed at the Annual Regional Championships with her team until an injury led to her retirement at age fifteen. The author of three young adult novels — The Possibilities of Sainthood, This Gorgeous Game, and The Survival Kit — and four adult nonfiction books, she lives in Brooklyn, New York.
Text copyright © 2012 by Donna Freitas
Illustrations copyright © 2012 by Kyle T. Webster
All rights reserved. Published by Arthur A. Levine Books, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920.
SCHOLASTIC and the LANTERN LOGO are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Freitas, Donna.
Gold medal summer / Donna Freitas. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: After fourteen-year-old Joey experiences her first kiss and learns that her best friend wants to quit competitive gymnastics, she considers giving up her dream of winning gold medals to have a normal life, even as her sister and assistant coach urge Joey to reach a new level.
ISBN 978-0-545-32788-6 (hardcover: alk. paper) [1. Gymnastics — Fiction. 2. Interpersonal relations — Fiction. 3. Sisters — Fiction. 4. Competition (Psychology) — Fiction. 5. Family life — Rhode Island — Fiction. 6. Rhode Island — Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.F8844Gol 2012
[Fic] — dc23
2011029500
First edition, June 2012
Cover art © 2012 by Steve Rawlings
Cover design by Elizabeth B. Parisi
e-ISBN: 978-0-545-48379-7
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this publication may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
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